Memories
by mrs-stuart-turner
Summary: Just a little oneshot that randomly came to me one day. Mostly from Sam's POV, a sweet little story.


**Memories.**

Samantha Nixon walked into her bedroom and sat down on her bed, contemplating what to do next. She was in the middle of a rare day off. After almost falling asleep during a briefing at work the previous day, DCI Meadows made her take the day off.

"Stay at home, go shopping, take a walk along the Thames. As long as you're relaxed and ready for work in two days, I don't care what you do."

Sam opened her mouth to argue, but Jack gave her a stern look, and she reconsidered. "Guv."

And now she was sitting on her bed, at 12pm, with nothing to do. This is why she hated having days off – lack of activity. At least when she was at work, she was kept busy, and there was always something to do. But here, in her home, she struggled to find something. She had slept-in, eaten, read the papers, showered, dressed in a tracksuit and watched two hours of morning television. And now she was bored. Bored. Bored. BORED.

She looked out the window. Go for a walk? No, can't be bothered. My day off- I don't want to exercise. She considered going to see a movie… and then rethought it. Teens bunking off school to 'see a movie', and to snog in the back row. Nothing of interest on anyway. Sam sighed, the only noise in her empty house. And yet she hated silence. She got up, crossed to her stereo, and pushed the 'play' button. Soon, the smooth stylings of Michael Buble filled her room. Much better. She could always invite a friend over…

The very thought almost made her laugh out loud. A smile on her face, she knew that was never going to happen. Apart from the fact that she didn't really have that many friends, everyone was at work. Fighting crime, keeping the streets of Sun Hill safe. Sitting silently for a few moments, Sam then came to a somewhat sad realisation; she was lonely. Age 43, and no husband or family with her. She really was married to the job – the one thing she told Stuart she _wasn't_ on the very first day they had met. Then again, Samantha Nixon had always been a bit of a loner. Even at school – sure, she had friends, but it wasn't as if they went out every Saturday night. In fact, she remembered that she rather preferred to stay at home, watching TV, or reading up on her psychology journals; she was, after all, fiercely intelligent. Slowly she had started dating, and then within months she had fallen pregnant. Way to go, Samantha. Her friends had ditched her – they didn't want to be seen with the preggers chick. So Abigail Nixon had entered the world, and for some time Sam wasn't alone. That is, until her job got in the way. Many years on, Sam learnt the hard way that choosing her career over her daughter wasn't the wisest decision.

And now Samantha Nixon was back to 'alone in the world'. And the problem still remained – what the hell was there to do? Sam sighed. She knew it was going to come to this – her last resort. Cleaning out her closet.

--

She walked over to her closet and pulled the doors open. She stood there, hands on hips, looking at all the junk she had accumulated over the years. For someone who wanted to understand and control the world around her, this closet wasn't the best example. Sam stared at her clothes. Black suits, grey suits, navy blue suits. A few business-ey style shirts, mostly in off-white colours. Some jumpers, casual jackets, long-sleeved tops. Then there were her summer clothes. And jeans. Lastly, on the floor of her wardrobe, were her shoes. Her black stilettos, black heeled boots, worn almost everyday at work, some cork wedges and her white runners. And a pair of flat sandals, for casual-wear. What a selection.

She gathered her shoes and dumped them on the floor next to her bed, eager to get to the shoeboxes at the back of her closet. She pulled one out, and then sat down. These shoeboxes were filled with bits of random mementos, papers, pictures, whatever really, she remembered. She pulled the lid off the black box, curios as to what was inside, and was confronted with birthday cards, all from different years. She opened one with a big '40!' on the front.

"_Sam"_, it read. "_Happy 40__th__ Birthday – you old bag!"_ Sam smiled, shaking her head, remembering her reaction when she had first read it three years ago. _"But really, thanks for the great friendship over the past weeks. Phil xx." _

She placed the card back in the box, and kept rifling through. Soon enough, she found a photo, face down, with the words "_August 18__th__, 200_6" written on the back. Interested, she picked the photo up and flipped it over. Oh. She should have known.

It was a photo of her and Stuart. It had been taken in a photo booth that Stuart had dragged her into. Sitting on the chair, after putting money in the machine, he pulled Sam onto his lap, and together they posed for many cheesy photos, most of which a pair of 15 year olds would be proud of. "How many more are there?" Sam laughed.

"This one coming up is the last one, so smile nicely Samantha." Stuart informed her. He wrapped his arms around her middle and she smiled, showing her straight white teeth. However, just before the photo was taken, Stuart leaned in closely against Sam's ear and whispered something incredibly dirty. She turned her head, her eyes widened, her mouth hanging open in a smile while he grinned up at her like a Cheshire cat. And that moment was captured, printed onto the photo that Sam held between her fingers. She smiled sadly, remembering their days of fun, before the pregnancy, the miscarriage, and eventually their break-up.

Sam cleared her throat, putting the photo back in the box, adamant she wasn't going to cry, and kept rummaging, until her nail caught on the corner of something. Rubbing her finger, she extracted the object – another photograph. Except this one was with Phil.

It was the day that she had been assaulted by Alex Vincent, and Phil had acted as her knight in shining armour, coming to her rescue, just as Vincent was about to crush her face. Phil had knocked him out cold, and then rushed to her side. Later that day they had been at the London Eye for Yvonne's leaving do. Champagne in hand, Sam had just told Phil she was finally ready for him to stay the night, when Reg had come around with a camera, gathering happy snaps.

"Ah, the finest Sergeants at Sun Hill." He said, positioning the camera, while Sam and Phil shared a look. "Smile!"

And they did. The photo had been returned to them a week later, and Sam had immediately framed it. They were both beaming, Phil's arm draped casually across Sam's shoulder, as they held their champagne glasses. Sam stared at it sadly, wishing that their brief moment of pure bliss could return. Was she wrong to have dumped him because he had said those three small words? Maybe she should have waited for a little bit longer? Maybe Phil Hunter _was_ 'the one', the apple of her eye, the love of her life?

But no, Sam had finished it, reverting once again back to 'alone in the world'. Tears welled in her eyes, threatening to spill out, until a little voice in the back of her mind spoke, repeating a saying she had once overheard.

"_Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened."_

Despite herself, Sam smiled a little, wiping the tears from her eyes. She put the photo back in the box, gently placing it so it rested on the top, before securing the lid back on. She picked the box up and put it back into the corner of her closet. She wasn't really going to clean anything, or throw anything out. They were all precious memories, to be kept forever.


End file.
